Long Road to Damascus
by immie8
Summary: "Perhaps I was saving myself." Or so Athos hoped. But the past is not so easily cured, and the road to salvation often has many twists and turns. Sequel to 'Miles to Go Before I Sleep' but can be read on its own. Set post 1.10 – spoilers for the season one finale.


**Disclaimer: Nope, still don't own it. Quotes were once again featured Criminal Minds. Unbeta'd, so all the mistakes are mine. **

**A/N: Apologies for the delay, I really did try to get this out as fast as I could, but between dealing with the busiest time at the office, looking for a new job and attending an out of town wedding, my dedicated writing time went out the window. Also, I just want to give a big thank you to everyone who's reviewed and favoured my stories. The show provides the inspiration but you provide the encouragement for me to put pen to paper and to continue to write!**

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><p><strong><span>Long Road to Damascus<span> **

_To the living we owe respect, but to the dead we owe only the truth. __**– Voltaire **_

D'Artagnan shifted nervously in the office, fighting to contain a yawn. Though he'd been with the musketeers nearly a year now, he had still only been recently commissioned, so being unexpectedly called into the captain's office at the crack of dawn was somewhat disconcerting. He straightened himself as he heard the door open behind him, but relaxed as a familiar voice reached his ears.

"You too, huh?" came Aramis' voice from behind him, "Alright, so what have you done now?"

"Well whatever it is I'm now certain that it's not my fault. In fact, I'm quite sure it's yours." D'Artagnan smirked as he turned around to face Aramis whose eyebrows were raised. "You cause more trouble than I do."

"Really now?" said Aramis skeptically, mirth dancing in his eyes.

"Yes and I think Athos would agree with me," declared d'Artagnan.

"I sincerely doubt that," retorted Aramis, with a barking laugh.

"I _find_ trouble, _you_ cause it. Also, since I was on duty here at the garrison last night, one that passed without a single incident, I might add, that leaves you," declared d'Artagnan.

"Well, we'll just have to ask Athos when he gets here," stated Aramis.

"Speaking of Athos, where is he?" asked Porthos. "He usually is the first of us to arrive."

"I was hoping you could tell me that." The captain's voice caused the three men to start, all of them unconsciously straightening to attention. Silence fell over the room as the captain entered, making his way towards his desk.

"Has something happened to Athos?" asked Aramis, the gravity of the captain's statement beginning to dawn on him. All three tensed at Treville's silence, as true weight of the captain's opening statement settled heavily on the three.

"I'm unsure. I received a note this morning informing me that Athos was taking leave and that he would send further news once his plans were settled," stated Treville, his face grim. "I was hoping that he might have informed one of you three of these plans, but from the looks of things it would seem that he did not."

"Captain, permission…," began Aramis.

"Granted – find him and bring him home." Treville nodded his dismissal at the three. "Good luck and Godspeed."

-xxxxxxxx-

The three men walked in silence towards Athos' apartments. They'd already checked his room at the garrison and found nothing, and all inquiries there had also come up empty. As they walked d'Artagnan found himself retracing the past three weeks, trying to see if there was something that he'd missed – some small signal or suggestion that he was supposed to read into – something, anything that would tell d'Artagnan that Athos had not just decided to abandon them. D'Artagnan sighed; he'd hoped that Athos' exile of his wife would have given him peace, a peace that might have opened him to allowing himself a measure of happiness. And it really had seemed to be going that way.

He remembered the night at the tavern after they'd been called to the palace to hear the announcement of the royal pregnancy. They'd celebrated with wine and laughter with even the ache of Constance's loss fading in the light of brotherhood. And when d'Artagnan had taken a moment to survey the scene, it struck him how wrong they'd been: they had much more than honour – they had the glory of each other's company, the love of their brothers and the priceless wealth that their friendship and fraternity brought. It was as close to a perfect moment as d'Artagnan could remember and he'd truly thought it was the start of a new beginning.

A shout drew d'Artagnan from his reverie and with a start he found himself standing in the doorway to Athos' apartment. D'Artagnan gaped at what he saw – the small room looked as if it had been ransacked. The table and what little furniture was in the room had been overturned and the remnants of a bottle and its contents could be seen splayed on the far wall and floor below. As he surveyed the scene, D'Artagnan felt the blood in his veins run cold as images of the all the worst possibilities filled his mind.

"Spread out, see if you can find anything." Aramis' instructions brought d'Artagnan out of his trance and he hastened to obey. D'Artagnan bit his lip as his search for clues forced him to truly look at the destruction around him.

"No blood," stated Porthos, "I don't see any blood. Do either of you?" D'Artagnan shook his head after a cursory scan. "Well, at least that likely means 'e wasn't here when this happened, cause he wouldn't've gone down without a fight."

D'Artagnan once again bit his lip, finding no comfort in the declaration. As he moved to closer inspect another section of the room he felt his foot strike something and as he looked to see what it was he felt a pit form in his stomach. And as he bent to pick it up, he thought his heart would stop at what he saw. Then out of the corner of his eye, an unwelcome, but familiar sight caught his eye and everything fell into place. "I think I have an idea of what happened," declared d'Artagnan, grimly.

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><p>Athos stood stone faced, staring at the headstone. From all appearances the grave appeared to be well-kept and lovingly attended to, but Athos knew different. After their parents passing, he and Thomas only truly had each other in the world and as Athos had not visited the site since the funeral, it was likely the only visitor to the grave was the groundskeeper who was paid to upkeep the site. Athos shook his head: Thomas deserved better and this was just another way in which his brother had failed him. He felt a bitter laugh rise in his throat. It seemed that even after death, Athos was doomed to fail his brother. Athos felt his knees buckle as a sudden wave of grief overcame him.<p>

"I'm sorry," he sobbed, "I'm so sorry. I failed you."

"I doubt he'd agree with the sentiment." Athos instinctively reached for his weapon before freezing, his mind quickly supplying the identity of the voice behind him.

D'Artagnan started slightly at Athos' initial reaction – raising his palms he began to identify himself when he noted the change in Athos' body language. His mentor had gone still as a statue, his shoulders stiff as stone. D'Artagnan bit his lip and instinctively averted his eyes as Athos proceeded to wipe his own tears. A rustle caused d'Artagnan to turn back to find his brother standing, but still facing the grave.

"You once said that we were more alike than I knew," answered d'Artagnan to Athos' yet unspoken question. "So I just thought of what I might do if I were in your situation." Sighing when he received no response, d'Artagnan moved forward stopping so that he was just behind Athos. "You didn't fail him." He declared firmly.

"That we're standing here seems to suggest otherwise," replied Athos bitterly, guilt and the shame clouding his eyes, tearing his heart to shreds. He squeezed his eyes shut, desperately trying to swallow the sob rising in his throat.

"Athos, enough!" D'Artagnan grabbed Athos by the shoulders, pulling them face-to-face. "He wouldn't want this for you."

"You seem very certain of the thoughts of a man you never met." The venom with which he spoke the words surprised even Athos and he turned his head away. He inhaled sharply as he felt a gentle hand squeeze his shoulder.

"You're right, I didn't know him." D'Artagnan ducked his head as he spoke forcing Athos to meet his eyes. "But I'm certain that he loved you. And those we love would never wish us miserable for their sakes. If our positions were reversed, you'd tell me the exact same thing. So do us all a favour and take your own advice." D'Artagnan allowed himself a small smile and, despite everything, Athos felt his lips quirk even as the sight of his brother's gentle smile flooded his mind with images of once cherished memories, now forever bittersweet.

"And I know in my heart that he fought for the same reasons we did: so that you might be rid of her," continued d'Artagnan. The words were little more than a whisper but the fierceness with which they were spoken left Athos breathless and he could not help his eyes from drifting downwards. "This was _**my**_ choice," declared d'Artagnan, pressing Athos' hand to his once wounded side. "And I would choose it a thousand times over and not regret it once, so you don't get to either." D'Artagnan leaned in, pressing his forehead against Athos' bowed one. Athos swallowed at his brother's words – his fears and whispering recriminations growing ever louder. "You made the right choice," continued d'Artagnan, easily divining his brother's thoughts, "if she's foolish enough to return, _**we**_ will deal with her, but you had to let her go. Her blood wasn't worthy of your sword."

"I thought I'd lost you," whispered Athos, his body beginning to tremor at the memory. "That once again she'd…that I'd…."

"She didn't – and even…"

"No, never…and don't you dare even think, promise me…" Athos raised his head and as their eyes locked, d'Artagnan felt his heart break at the desperation in his brother's eyes.

"Athos," began d'Artagnan gently, "I cannot promise you that for there will never be a time where I would not choose your life over mine. But for you sake I promise to try – to not let my heart rule my head, and to fight: for every heartbeat, every breath, and for every moment to remain at your side, come what may." Abruptly, d'Artagnan grabbed his hand and he tensed at the object he felt being pressed into his palm. "She once chained you with another little thing. For years you carried it until three weeks ago when threw it from your life along with her. Five years you fought for that moment so don't let her claw her way back in. He wouldn't want that."

_And neither do I. _

The silent declaration flowed easily between the two men and as Athos locked eyes with his young brother, the love and determination in his eyes sparked the fire in his heart. Taking a breath, he forced himself to unclench his fist. The small, lead ball sat still in his hand, his brother's blood encrusting its surface. Turning towards the horizon, Athos forced himself to swallow back the wave of guilt that threatened to overwhelm him before flinging the ball into the skyline with a shout. As it disappeared into the distance, Athos felt a shuddering breath escape from his body, and as he looked back towards his brother the nod of approval he gave filled Athos' heart with a peace that he had not felt in an age. Clapping the boy on the arm, he squeezed it firmly in gratitude, d'Artagnan inclining his head in silent acknowledgement. The two stood there for a few moments more, silently repeating their vows of loyalty and brotherhood before turning back towards the headstone.

"If I could just have a few moments of privacy, I'll join you in a minute," said Athos.

"Alright, but don't take too long. If you do, it won't be just me coming to get you and Porthos has already threatened to throw you over his shoulder and to carry you all the way back into the garrison that way if you force our hand," replied d'Artagnan, grinning at his brother's exasperated eye roll. Athos watched as d'Artagnan returned to the hill, and as he reached the peak the sight of him flanked by his (their) two brothers brought a ghost of a smile to his face.

"I will always miss you, little brother," confessed Athos, turning back to the marker. "And there will never be a day that I would not wish to take your place – but I promise to try, for your sake and the sake of the brothers I know you've sent me. Thank you for everything; I hope one day we will meet again – and, no, not too soon." Kneeling, he placed a gentle kiss on the marker; then, taking a breath, he straightened and marched towards where his brothers were waiting. As he took his place, completing the circle, he felt d'Artagnan place a hand on his arm. On his other side he felt Porthos do the same and Aramis followed, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder. The four men stood there for a moment, each savouring the feeling of being whole once more.

"So, where to now?" asked Aramis, locking eyes with his leader.

"Home," declared Athos, locking eyes with each of his brothers. The three men smiled at his declaration, for though Paris was their destination, they knew that their brother meant the three of them: for it was the same for each man. And as each approached their steed, it was with lightness in his step that all had not felt for days. The four mounted their horses in near synchronicity and once each man was settled, Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan looked to Athos waiting for him to lead them once more. Nodding, Athos turned his stallion and pressed his heels into its flanks. His brothers quickly followed suit and just as it seemed they would make the ride back in companionable silence, an unexpected voice broke the lull.

"Did I ever tell you about the time Thomas and I…"

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><p><em>The life of the dead is placed in the memory of the living – <em>_**Cicero **_


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